Pursuit
by Telel
Summary: It wasn't like she didn't know what being pursued felt like. But a little gift left on her porch stirs something in her heart. Tifa-centric. Rated M for one bar patron who insists on playing Tifa's foul-mouthed-cupid.


It wasn't like she didn't know what being pursued felt like. It wasn't like she didn't know what pursuing felt like either.

But when Tifa opened the doors of 7th Heaven one cloudy morning, she didn't know how to respond to the small bundle left unceremoniously on her doorstep.

So she stood there for a good minute, her left foot still hovering mid-step, a hand still holding the door wide open, and her mouth open dazedly as she continued to stare down at the offending object, mind whirring at half-speed trying to figure out what was going on.

Just beneath her left foot still dangling mid-air was a bouquet of flowers. Bright red roses.

The bouquet sat crookedly between the two steps just outside her door, half-dried but otherwise intact. The tissue paper surrounding the bouquet was creased, mostly near the base where it appeared it had been repeatedly crushed and released throughout the night. A red ribbon also tied tightly around the base floated limply in the wind before settling on the bouquet again, as ragged as the rest of the bouquet. Flaky leaves mixed with burnt cigarette butts left scattered on the bottom step of her porch held testament to someone having stayed at the spot for a long time.

To put bluntly, the bouquet stunk of rejected love.

Gingerly Tifa bent down to pick up the bouquet off her porch.

Half her mind had to wonder if there was perhaps a sulking, heart-broken sod somewhere down the street who'd gotten their poor heart stomped on, and thrown the flowers out of spite which somehow managed to land on her porch.

She had to admit the surprise wasn't as bad as the last time someone left a piece of them on her steps. Drunks weren't very as considerate when deciding where to vomit.

She peeked curiously up and down the street in search of someone, perhaps a hysterically sobbing one, however given the early hour the streets were still quite deserted.

She entertained the thought of one of her patrons last night being the said heart-broken figure but as soon as she did, her movements must have jostled the flowers as a small card peeked out at her from between the soft red petals.

Curiously Tifa plucked the card out and flipped it between her fingers.

Perhaps there would be a name to put to the mystery figure. Much to her disappointment however, the inside of the card was blank. There was no name, no initial, heck, not even an ink splotch.

But when she closed the card and flipped it around to tuck into the bouquet again, she saw on the back was a series of numbers. Numbers she recognised to be a mobile phone number. And just below the numbers was her name "Tifa" scribbled blindly in rich black ink.

Tifa froze again as her mind reeled in surprise. As the realisation the flowers were meant for her finally sank in, Tifa's cheeks grew hotter.

Give her any monster in Gaia and the woman wouldn't even bat an eye. Give her a bouquet and the fighter was left speechless.

It wasn't like she didn't know what being pursued felt like. There was nothing new about having a bouquet of flowers presented to her.

Yet it had been so long since anything remotely romantic had happened to her, Tifa had almost forgotten what it felt like. After travelling far and wide, meeting more people than she could have ever expected to, and serving the best bar in town, she was still so perfectly, certainly, single.

Sure, she had patrons who talked dirty and flirted with her all night and she had a man living with her while raising two children they both claimed as their own… but that was different.

Neither could come a within a mile as romantic as a bouquet of half-dead roses thrown carelessly on her porch.

It was sad, really.

And so Tifa was torn. As she took a single petal between her fingers and felt the smooth, plump texture, she couldn't decide whether or not to take the flowers inside. She couldn't just throw the thing out like it meant nothing.

The person, man (she hoped), who had left these here had worked his courage to spend his gils to buy her these. Though he couldn't bring himself to give it to her personally, he still left her his number asking her silently to give him a chance.

But to take these inside would be as if she was accepting his advances.

Without even knowing who he (or she, Tifa hoped not) was, she couldn't do such a thing. Not to mention she had two little curious eyes watching everything unfold within the house.

And the owners of said curious eyes would tell her friends about it.

And they would come a'knocking all right.

Tifa looked longingly down at the bouquet. Flowers, especially roses were rare luxury in Midgar Edge.

Wilted or not, dumped or not, flowers were flowers, whoever had given it to her did not matter. Whatever meaning the little bouquet held didn't deter the fact she was pleased to see the bundle of nature.

Making up her mind, Tifa held the bouquet tightly against her chest. Taking a single rose to her nose she sniffed experimentally. As expected the rose had lost its fragrance after being left out in the cold harsh night but Tifa could imagine the sweet, rich scent in her mind.

And that was enough.

Smiling softly to herself, Tifa stepped back into the bar and closed the door behind her quietly.

It was going to be a good day.

* * *

"Hey, another round for me and my mates!"

"Coming right up!"

"Tifa, where's my drink?"

"Almost done!"

Mugs thudded on the wooden table before a small crowd of burly men erupted in a roaring cheer and Tifa felt her ears ring.

It wasn't easy being a barmaid.

It was yet another Saturday night at Seventh Heaven and with winter just around the corner, Tifa found her cosy little bar practically overflowing with people.

On every table and standing along every edge of her walls were her patrons waving empty glasses, downing half-empty ones or putting their lips to a new glass.

So busy was her bar that despite the teeth-chattering chill evidenced by the way her window frosted up, Tifa didn't even have to bother turning the heaters on full. The sheer body heat of however many drunken men in her bar was having just about the same effect.

Tifa herself hadn't bothered putting on extra layers either that reason tonight.

The pin ball machine which Tifa had unplugged for the night in case a drunken stumble activated the lifts to the AVALANCHE hideout, was serving as a makeshift table for late comers. Or it was, until a patron accidentally tipped the contents of his glass right over the damn thing.

The surrounding patrons quickly evacuated their own glasses, saving the glasses from the spill but in sacrifice of their table. The beer quickly ran over the top glass cover and down the sides, eventually splattering over the floor.

Tifa stifled a groan.

"Good one, you drunk!"

"Kick 'em out!"

Those who had seen the moment happen erupted in yet another roar and the rest of the bar who had missed the moment quickly pitched in with their own deafening roars.

Tifa shrewdly guessed they were unsure what had happened but were just keen to make some noise.

If someone had just walked in on the moment, they could have easily mistaken the patron to have spouted blasphemy, hailed ShinRa, prayed for the end of the world, doomed everyone in the bar, and then call himself a God for all the hooting and swearing the poor man was subjected to.

"It's okay. It was only beer," Tifa said more to the disgruntled regular sitting at the bar counter than herself as the roar faded.

It wasn't the first accident the machine had been through and surely if the patron wiped it down before the alcohol dribbled into the hard wiring, the thing would still function. Tifa peered over the crowds heads hopefully. The culprit, a new-face to 7th Heaven snuck a guilty glance over at Tifa. When his eyes met hers, it widened in fright and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Tifa sighed.

"Gets a bit rowdy without some male force here, ey Teef?" The regular put down his empty glass and wiped his mouth across his sleeve. Tifa raised a curious brow at him.

"'Male-force'?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Ya know. Some fella to keep an eye out for drunk wimps. Keepin' 'em in line." The regular explained vaguely, dragging his stout finger in an artistic improvisation of "the line" leaving a long sticky trail across the counter.

Tifa reached over to quickly wipe the grime away with a cloth, huffing indignantly at the regular.

Was he suggesting she couldn't keep the bar under control?

"I think we're doing all right."

This time the regular raised his thick brow at Tifa giving her a look that said "whatever".

For a guy who came to drink at her bar nearly every night, he sure had some nerve accusing her of being unable to keep her bar stable.

While Tifa could recall having some rowdy nights that may or may not have ended bloody, on other nights 7th Heaven could have been mistaken for a wine bar with all its hushed tones and calmness.

Tonight just happened to be a bad example of a 'rowdy night'.

Tifa briefly glanced up at the ceiling where she knew on the other side of the wooden boards were the children's rooms. She had put them to bed an hour ago and they hadn't come down the stairs wondering what all the commotion was about.

Hopefully they had lived with having a bar downstairs long enough to be able to sleep through the volume this group was making.

"There used to some fella 'round 'ere to hold fort. Where's he?"

Shifting her gaze back to the regular Tifa looked blankly at him.

'Some fella' could mean anyone. Seeing as literally 99% of her patrons were males, the regular could be talking about any odd man in entire Midgar Edge. When Tifa's silence grew longer the regular paused mid-drink and spoke again.

"The weird one that don't drink but stands 'round all bloody night."

Well that narrowed things down quite nicely.

But Tifa wasn't about to have this conversation with the regular just yet. At some point between her thoughts, a fight had started up between two men near the entrance of the bar.

Quickly drying her hands on a towel, Tifa darted her way across the room.

"Drunk crazy bastard!"

"I'm not drunk! I'm perfeck- perfecktly- perfectly! sober, thank you very much!"

"You're drunk if I say you are, you oaf!"

"What did you just call me?!"

And the two men locked in a fierce grip (fierce for a pair of drunks) of each other's ties and blazed deathly glares. The bar around them began howling and cheering the two men on, shouting "fight! fight! fight!" in a rhythmical, barbaric chant of some sort. The chants made its way around the bar quickly picking up pace with each call and Tifa rolled her eyes.

_Men._

"All right, that's enough. Stop fighting or I'll have to ask you to leave." Tifa spoke calmly but loudly over the ever-loudening chants. But she was easily ignored and the two men growled and swore even louder than she at each other.

The patrons were now gathered excitedly forming a circular wall with their bodies. Tifa felt like she was back at the Gold Saucer's battle arena.

Tifa tried to talk the drunk men out of fighting again by smiling to them, threatening them and prying their hands off each other's shirts, but as the gathered spectators decided she just being a bother to the fight, they split and regrouped with her now outside the circle they had formed.

Completely bewildered at being "expelled" from the arena, Tifa whipped back around trying to squeeze back in but was rejected again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the regular shaking his head before returning to his drink.

'So much for proving him wrong.'

Tifa finally drew out the gloves she kept in her pockets.

This had gone on long enough.

* * *

"Where'd ya throw 'em?"

"I just left them outside. They won't be coming back any time soon."

"Well when ya kick 'em in the balls like that, a man don't wanna come back." the regular drawled unashamedly as Tifa took off her gloves and stuffed them back into her pockets sensing the dimmed atmosphere of the bar.

It seemed her transformation from innocent, cheerful barmaid to scowling battle-hardened bouncer had tamed the bunch a bit. Much more so when they saw she knew exactly where to target for the best results.

Inwardly glad the crowd was more manageable than before, Tifa made her way back behind the counter and pulled out a few dirty dishes thinking maybe she should close shop earlier than usual today.

The earlier this particular crowd went home, the fewer problems she could foresee happening tonight.

Her gaze trailed over to the wet pin ball machine sitting forlornly in the corner.

It wasn't like she was any short on work anyway.

"Speaking of balls, Teef, as a regular drinker 'ere, I thinks ya need a man."

Tifa raised her brows at the regular for the second time tonight.

He was either drunk or lonely or horny or all three at once. When she asked him which one it was, the regular leaned back, nearly tipping off the stool and answering slowly as he regained his balance.

"I'm all three at once. But what I meant was ya used to have a bouncer 'ere. What's 'is name. Ya know. Blondie."

Tifa's hands paused for a split moment under the running tap. Under the regular's scrutinising gaze, Tifa knew he saw the way her lips thinned before she consciously pulled it into a frown.

"I don't need a bouncer. I'm more than capable of-"

The regular cut into her long-winded reply distractedly waving a hand in the air.

"Yeah, yeah. You can punch. Good for ya Teef. I'm jus' sayin', with the kids upstairs ya don' want trouble. Better to have someone, ya know, with a dick, take care o' things?"

Tifa gaped at the regular, feeling her cheeks heat up at his bluntness. Partially out of embarrassment and partially out of guilty admittance, she diverted her gaze back down to the dirty dish in her hand and ran it under the tap quickly.

"I… the bar can't afford it," she said.

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew that he knew that she was lying through gritted teeth.

The bar was packed like tonight on most weekends. On weekdays Tifa had her usual regulars come by every night. The said regular sat in front of her and drummed his finger on the counter boredly.

He gave her an exasperated look a teacher might give to a student who excused herself from homework under the guise her "dog ate it."

"Nice try, Teef."

Tifa groaned.

"Blondie don't drink. Don't do nothing. Jus' watches and gets a free drink from ya every time he steps in a fight. Not that he's got much to do but show off that huge-ass sword he's always luggin' 'round. I know he ain't getting' paid for bein' 'ere. …'Bar can't afford it' my sweet ass," the regular grumbled unhappily taking the glass to his lips once more. When he found his glass was empty, he gave Tifa a pointed look before tipping the glass towards her. Taking her cue, Tifa quickly refilled the glass, giving him an apologetic smile for trying and failing to pull the wool over his eyes.

"It's on the house."

He was a 'regular' after all. She smiled freely again when the regular faintly nodded, closing his eyes as he tipped the drink into his mouth in one huge gulp.

Knowing she was off the hook, Tifa let her mind wander back to his point of debate.

It wasn't like she 'enjoyed' kicking out patrons with her own hands. She could do it easily enough but it wasn't one of her favourite jobs in the bar.

"Blondie" used to do that whenever he was around. He wasn't always available but when he was at the bar, he'd help her out. It wasn't until two weeks ago that "Blondie" had decided to disappear completely that made Tifa start picking up his job.

Tifa's eyes automatically went for the stairs as her mind easily pictured his room.

His empty room. She shivered.

The cold, lifelessness of the deserted room disturbed her.

It was his room, in her place, and she knew the layout off by heart. She could picture every book left messily on his desk, every delivery slip blackened with hastily scribbled notes, but whenever she would open those firmly shut doors for some reason or another, a distant chill ran down her spine and the smell of dust and old leather struck her like spikes.

Perhaps, she hypothesised, it was because she never got to know why he decided to pack up and leave. The sudden change in attitude was so different to how she expected things to be now since the reunion crisis was over.

A moment of thought later, Tifa scowled.

_Whatever._ _Who was he to even make me worry so much anyway?_

As she turned to face the bar again, she spotted the bouquet of roses hanging on the wall at the end of the stairs.

"Wha'chu smilin' about?"

Tifa forced herself to look away.

"Anyway, drunk fools're the least o' my worries." The regular said again once he'd gulped down his new glass. With a conspiratory sideways glance around the bar, he leaned over, coiling a hand around his mouth in secrecy as he whispered into Tifa's ear.

"There's a fella whos been watchin' ya all night. Far left corner, second table from the back. Brown mop."

Tifa tilted her head and eyed the table the regular spoke of.

Sure enough there sat a brunette male whose eyes instantly met Tifa's. Initially she was greeted with a deer in the headlights look as he froze pathetically in his spot. Tifa almost felt the need to assure him she came in peace.

But to her surprise, he didn't snap his gaze away like most men guiltily did after being spotted. Instead he held her gaze and slowly but cautiously, Tifa watched the bewildered look melt away into a small pleasant smile.

She smiled back at him, mostly out of habit as a barmaid and common courtesy, but a tiny portion of her told her it was because she had found his smile… oddly cute.

He had a very plain sort of face, she noticed.

The type of person whose face you would see, then walk three steps down the street and see another with an uncanny resemblance.

But when he smiled, his faced opened up completely. The crow's feet at the ends of his eyes lead to round rosy cheeks she could tell was from the drink in his hand.

Now he was giving her an endearing, toothy smile, something Tifa would expect from a mature man who had been right in the thick of many mischievous moments in his adolescent days. He raised his glass at her, took a small swig, and then turned back to his mates.

It was… rather charming.

"…-fa?"

"…"

"Tifa?"

"Yes?"

The regular who had been watching the entire interaction with a critical eye smirked when Tifa bristled herself awake.

"Get a man or get stared at Teef. Your choice."

Despite the wicked grin the regular was now sporting, Tifa refused to rise to the bait.

It wasn't like the guy was staring at her inappropriately, Tifa thought, and it wasn't like he'd used a pick-up line on her either.

She'd simply caught the guy staring at her face and they shared a polite smile. But to be fair, the sad fact was that that didn't happen very often. Tifa knew the eyes usually roamed somewhere below her face.

When she had first opened up the business, the fact often riled her and she complained about it to Barret who had been sympathetic enough to listen but otherwise useless to solving the problem.

"S' a bar," he would say.

Over time her fierce anti-pervert spirit died as she resigned to her fate.

As Barret had always told her, and as she convinced herself one day, it simply came with the job. Besides, she had children to feed and frankly, with more tolerance came bigger tips.

It was a part of growing up, she'd told herself.

The staring had died down a little once Yuffie finally convinced Tifa to change her wardrobe.

It was just another black layer over her standard white shirt and wearing longer pants but somehow it worked to her advantage.

The stares were less obvious but the tips weren't all too affected because by the time she had changed, the perverts had become regulars used to paying her more than they really owed.

But this brunette was a new face to her. He was probably a simple soul who had just blundered into her bar to escape the chill with a drink, noticed her.

The regular was overstating it when he said the man "watched 'er all night".

Tifa was just about to convince herself right when in a magical moment, it happened again.

She had lifted her head to make sure there wasn't a shy hand in the air silently calling for her attention, when just on the edge of her peripheral vision, was the man.

The only face that wasn't busy staring at her breasts or otherwise engaged.

Tifa's senses tingled.

With lightning speed, her eyes shot back to the man, but she only managed to catch a glimpse of his smile as he turned away again. Feeling an emotion she couldn't possibly label rise within her chest, Tifa huffed and angrily scraped down melted cheese off the plate in her hand.

Was this frustration? Annoyance?

No….

Tifa's eyes widened in surprise.

it was excitement.

Just what was this man doing to her?

The regular must have read the epiphany on her face as it struck through Tifa's mind and he grinned devilishly, showing both rows of teeth proudly as he nudged Tifa in the arm.

"Go get 'em, Teef."

"What? No- He's…"

"He ain't blonde. He ain't got no sword. S'that your problem?" Tifa's face burned.

"No, no, no! He's… uh, just not my kind of man." She finished quietly, wondering why this regular was in her bar making fun of her when he could be at home.

"Ahh. You're jus' nit-pickin'. There ain't nuthin' like your "kind 'o man." Get 'em while s'there."

"This isn't about nit-picking or getting them while they're there. I can barely see his face from here- I don't even know how he looks like as a whole!"

"S'nt bother me."

"You're impossible."

The regular shook his head at Tifa and took her slender wrist in his hand. He tugged at her arm until she walked around from behind the bar counter then released her gruffly.

"Go get yerself a look if look's so important to ya."

He all but pushed her towards the man, and though surprised by the force, years of fighting experience prevented her from falling.

Instead, she stumbled a little on her feet, then stood up tall. Twice Tifa turned back at the regular, face full of blame, shame and embarrassment in general but was promptly ignored.

If the man was a just another patron, Tifa would have no problems walking up to him and doing her job as an attentive barmaid. She could ask him questions about how his night was going, if the drinks were to his tastes and whatever other topic came to her mind at the time.

But now that she was conscious of his apparent (yet still doubtable, Tifa crossed her fingers) attraction for her, Tifa couldn't bring herself to it.

So she compromised; opting to take a few steps closer to the man but hidden behind the back of a burly patron.

Tifa couldn't quite get the view she hoped for but from what she could see, she could imagine him to be 'just average'.

No rock hard abs, chiselled six-pack or chest hair that could give Barret a run for his money.

He was probably one of those men who watched their weight enough not to become obese but didn't bother perfecting their physique.

He was probably firm but not hard- sort of squishy maybe; having the kind of shoulder Tifa's father had to which she would rest her head on in comfort on slow days.

He probably had no idea how to wield a blade, or cock a gun, or throw a shuriken or punch either.

He was… yes, for a lack of a better description, a civilian-type of man. One who would rather call for help than pick up a weapon and fight; place faith in authorities and read about adventures in a book from the comfort of his lounge room couch.

He was in every way, very different. To her, and to everyone else she had met before.

Him, and his smile piqued her curiosity.


End file.
